VIVI SEES THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GATES
Raoul kicked one leg against the other. He was ill at ease, as any one
could have seen had they taken the trouble to watch him. Soufflot, the
seed shopman, seated on an overturned box in the market gardener’s room,
was holding forth as usual to some of his cronies. Dian sat apart from
the others, his hands folded on his knees. Raoul came up to him, and
stood before him, looking up at him. He had gone with his master to the
country the day after he had made fun of Humphrey at the West Barricade,
more than a fortnight ago now, and so he had not seen Dian since.
“Good day, master shepherd. It’s a long time since we’ve walked out
together, but now that you’re acquainted with the city perhaps you’ll
not want my company.” He hesitated a moment and then he colored all over
his honest face as he went on, “I’m none too proud of taunting the funny
fat man at the West Barricade.”
Dian smiled. “It was not a thing of which to be proud, that I’m bound to
say. One can go far if one has Humphrey Trail for a friend. The best
thing for you to do, if you are sorry, is to tell him so. Mayhap you’ll
be able to do something to atone for it one day! As for a walk, I’ll be
glad to go out with you. There’s too much talking here, words that do
nothing and mean less.” As he spoke, Dian rose to his great height and
put his cloak about his shoulders. He crossed the room and had his hand
on the knob of the door when something that Soufflot said made him
pause.
“We can take what we want, that’s what we can do. There was plenty of
grab awhile ago, but things are getting soft. I say let’s pillage!”
“There’s plenty of plunder about. Last week the jewels from a rue Royale
shop were scattered from one end of the street to the other. The
aristocrats and the anti-patriots are filling every jail in the city. We
are taking over the best houses now for official headquarters.”
“What houses?” It was Dian who asked the question.
“I’ve a list.” Soufflot’s friend, a blacksmith of the Saint Antoine
district, drew a paper from his pocket as he replied. He was thought
well of in his district as a zealous patriot, and he enjoyed the
importance. “We were each given one of these lists at the meeting of our
section last night. I was sorry not to see you there, farmer,” he said,
looking across at Dian, who still stood by the door. “Let’s see,” he
went on, “they still have a number of decisions to make as to houses for
official headquarters. There are any number whose former occupants have
gone—so!” As he spoke the blacksmith dashed his hand across his throat,
making a grating click with his tongue against his teeth.
The seed shopman laughed and so did the market gardener. The blacksmith
pondered over his list.
“The hotel of the De Roumande family near the corner of the square by
the Pont-Saint Michel. The hotel of the Framandes at 80 Champs Élysées,
all the hotels of aristocrats within two blocks of the Place de la
Concorde. The hotel of the Marquise du Ganne at 90 rue du Paradis.” The
blacksmith chuckled. “The old bird croaked out some little time ago. Our
authorities took care of the interment; and we’ve taken care of the
niece, too; the proud Comtesse Saint Frère. She’s there safe as can be!”
Dian opened the door and went out, followed by Raoul. They walked away
from the gates toward the city. Dian was silent, thinking how best to
take the direction of the house of the Marquise du Ganne without
arousing Raoul’s suspicions. He felt thankful enough when the boy spoke.
“I would like to see some of these houses of the aristocrats. They say
any citizen may go in. Let’s go to the Framande house. I used to keep
the cooks there in stitches of laughter, turning somersaults all up and
down the kitchens when I brought the fresh produce in.”
Dian nodded assent. “Well enough then, if you like. I, too, would not
mind a glimpse at some of them. You know the way, so I’ll follow your
lead,” he said.
They walked up the great wide avenue, turning on to it from the rue
Royale. Raoul looked back over his shoulder. At the end of the avenue
the great giant guillotine showed black against a blue spring sky.
“I’ll tell you something I saw, Shepherd, if you’ll keep a quiet tongue
in your head. There is a boy shut up in the bakery shop, the big, smart
one on the rue Saint Honoré. I saw him quite by accident. I’ve not told
any one. He’s an aristocrat, I’m sure; he had on a velvet suit.”
Raoul then told Dian everything he knew as they walked toward the
Framande house. It was natural enough that the shepherd should question
him, and he found out that, as far as Raoul could tell, the prisoner had
looked well, had been dressed in his usual way, and had had a tray of
milk and cakes carried up to him by a woman whom Raoul declared to be
kind.
“He could have worse than her looking after him, whoever he is. She’s
given me many a cup of hot coffee and a cake on cold days. She’s good
enough; but the boy’s in bad hands if he’s a prisoner of her husband!
He’ll have him up before the Tribunal for trial when the time is ripe.
You mark my words, he’s going to get some sort of plum for himself out
of this pudding!” Dian listened to Raoul in silence, making no comment
except to ask a few questions. Since he had found the note in the cake
he had waited quietly for the next development. He trusted that he would
be shown the right way and he had spoken confidently to Humphrey Trail
when that impetuous soul longed for action.
He was thinking of Humphrey and of Rosanne as he walked with Raoul along
the Champs Élysées. He saw Humphrey every day and he knew that Rosanne
was safe with Vivi, but he realized, as did also the Yorkshire man, that
Rosanne must not remain longer in the alley. Vivi was out now playing
about the gates and plying her father’s trade of selling licorice water.
She was the best little soul in the world, and she loved Rosanne, but
she was very young and she had never learned to keep things to herself.
She might, without meaning to, say something which would cause suspicion
and bring an investigating body of citizen soldiers to the alley. There
was only one place where Rosanne could be safe until the opportunity
came to take her out of Paris, and that was in the hidden cellar.
They found a noisy mob about the Framande house and sights that were bad
to see, for the crowds were out looting and robbing and killing. They
turned away, glad to be on a quiet street, and walked on in silence a
few minutes. Then Dian said:
“There were other houses. There was one on the rue du Paradis, the Du
Ganne place, was it not? Let us see what is going on there.”
Raoul nodded. “I know that one well, too. The old lady used to give
great parties. She’s dead now, and her niece is prisoner there. I’d like
to have a look at her!”
The house of the Marquise du Ganne was gloomy and big and forbidding. At
the wide entrance door they were challenged by a soldier in the uniform
of the Republic, who called:
“Who goes there? Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death!”
Dian and Raoul answered: “Friends. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or
Death!” and went inside.
In the center of a long hall some men in uniform sat writing at a table.
Citizens of Paris, some rough and ragged, walked about, but, for the
most part, the place was quiet. One of the men glanced up from his
writing and, when he saw Dian, nodded and beckoned to him. Dian went
over to the table, recognizing him as one of the men who had attended
Soufflot’s supper.
“Could you do me the favor of glancing at this, Shepherd? They say you
know how to write and read well, and that”—the man peered up at Dian as
he spoke—“that seems a passing strange thing for a shepherd.”
“The evenings are long in the country districts, citizen. I have worked
through them until late into the night to glean the little knowledge I
possess. But what is it I can do for you?” Dian replied.
“Just take a look at this notice I’ve written out and see if it’s
readable to your eyes. Marat can’t do much more than write his name, so
why should I care about doing any better?” As he spoke the official
handed the sheet to Dian, who bent over it.
“There are some words I could change for you, and with your permission
I’ll do it,” Dian said. The man consented and Dian sat down at the table
and, painstakingly and slowly, corrected the garbled writing. Then he
read it out to the official, who nodded with approval.
“You’ve done that well. You are clever, I see,” he commented, taking the
paper from Dian and leaning back in his chair and yawning.
Dian was silent for a minute. He wanted to ask if there was any
possibility of going through the house, hoping to get a word with the
comtesse as he went through. He did not know just how to word his
request without arousing suspicion. Raoul helped him out. He ran up to
the table just then.
“Oh, citizen Parnette, do let us see the prisoner. Just one look is all
I want,” he begged.
Citizen Parnette frowned. What an impudent youngster this messenger boy
of his friend, the market gardener, was, to be sure!
“It’s not done, as a rule. They’d be up there, every last one of them,
if they knew we had an aristocrat in keeping. Well, it won’t be for long
now. She will go to La Force I daresay. You can have a look for
friendship’s sake, but keep a quiet tongue about it. Go up the back
stairway and straight down a hall. She’s in a room at the left and you
can see her because the upper corner of the door is broken through. The
mob did that when we first took the house over. She was in the west wing
then, but we moved her to the other side.” The official bent over his
writing, and Dian and Raoul went on through the long hall to the back of
the house.
“Go on ahead of me, my lad. I’ll warrant you’ll take the steps three at
a time, and I would take my leisure,” Dian said to Raoul as they came to
the foot of a long flight of stairs. How often had the old comte spoken
to him of this house of his aunt’s where he had spent so many days of
his youth!
Raoul ran on up the steps three at a time, just as Dian had said he
would. When he was well on in front, Dian took a small notebook and a
piece of charcoal from the inner pocket of his cloak and, placing the
book against the tapestry wall at the side of the stairs, wrote these
words:
“Tear this after reading. Lisle is imprisoned in the bakery shop at rue
Saint Honoré. I shall find a way to save him and to save you.
Mademoiselle de Soigné is safe with friends. Keep up your courage.
Dian.”
Then he went on up the stairs and down the hall. Raoul was already
looking through the small, shattered paling at the side of the heavy,
nail-studded door. There was a red brocaded curtain in front of the
door. Raoul looked back over his shoulder.
“My, she’s grand and solemn looking. She’s sitting by the window!” He
moved away so that Dian could peer through. The shepherd hesitated. It
was not to his liking, this looking in on a woman, but he wanted to see
what the room was like and to pass his note to the comtesse. He put his
eyes to the opening and saw the comtesse sitting, as Raoul had said, by
the narrow window, dressed in her black frock, her hands folded in her
lap.
Raoul had roamed on down the hall, peering in at doors and shuffling his
feet along the velvet carpet as he went.
Dian said softly, “Come to the door, Madame.”
The comtesse heard him, gave a start, and then came quickly across the
room, both hands at her heart. She saw his face and recognized him at
once. There was no time for more than a word. He dropped the note at her
feet, whispering, “Be ready when I come.” Then he turned away and joined
Raoul, who was already shuffling toward him.
They walked back toward the West Barricade together, and, as they
walked, Raoul asked inquisitively: “Why do you not take us to your
lodgings? Where is it that you stay?”
“I am lodging with friends. It is a dark, cold place, and there are rats
about; but, because it is my friend’s house I am well pleased at being
there. Listen to me well, Raoul! Would you like to prove yourself a lad
to be trusted? You say you are sorry for hurting the honest farmer,
Humphrey Trail. Would you like to do him a service?”
“Maybe,” answered Raoul in his teasing way; but Dian knew that he was
teasing.
“See, Raoul, I am treating you as a man. I am trusting you. Does that
mean something to you?”
Raoul nodded. “Yes, Master Shepherd, I like you. I would serve you,” he
answered simply.
“Then listen well. I would ask you to take a letter to Champar, the
cross-eyed coach driver on the Amiens road. The crossroad where he turns
toward Melon is only a few miles from your master’s farm. You are simply
to hand him the letter and say nothing.” Dian looked down earnestly at
Raoul’s simple, round face.
“You may trust me right well, Shepherd,” Raoul said. “I’ll see that
Champar gets the letter safe enough.”
They had reached the gates, and they stood for a while watching the
carts go through. Suddenly they saw Vivi. She carried a tray from which
dangled a row of tin cups, and on the top of which was balanced a tall
pewter jug.
“Licorice water, licorice water! Who’s thirsty?” she called out at
intervals, and she did quite a thriving trade as she went about among
the people.
“Hi there, girl, another cup for me. Sacré, it’s a poor drink, but I
don’t see any wine kegs about, and it’s thirsty work seeing that no
aristocrats get through the gates,” said a soldier coming up to her.
Vivi grinned at him from under her straggling black locks as she poured
some of the sweet grey mixture into one of the cups. She liked to have
adventures so that she could tell Rosanne about them at night. She meant
to stop at a little shop she knew on the rue Saint Antoine and buy a bit
of sweet cake as a treat for Rosanne’s supper. Now that she had a few
pennies to spend she liked to buy some little thing to cheer her friend,
for whom the days dragged slowly.
“Let me go through the gates, Georges Fardou, just for fun,” she
pleaded.
The soldier in charge gave a good-natured laugh and looked down at her.
“That’s so, you’re poor old one-legged Ranboeau’s brat. That was a bad
deal your father got when the lumber fell. Let you through the gates, is
it? What would you do on the other side?” he asked.
“Pick some flowers and come right back,” answered Vivi, hitching up the
tray which was held about her neck by a leather strap.
The soldier in charge laughed and turned to another.
“She wants to pick some flowers on the other side of the gates. Well, go
through and see how many you’ll find!” He held open the gate far enough
for Vivi to step through, and they all laughed at her as she looked
about curiously.
“It’s a great sight, isn’t it? No one was curious until they had to stay
this side, but since the gates have been locked you’d think they thought
the fields of paradise were just near by,” laughed Georges Fardou.
There were no flowers, only a long stretch of road, the vanishing bulk
of a market cart in the distance, and the vivid spring sky above. Vivi
looked about her and then, putting her tray down, began to dance and
sing:
“Dansons la Carmagnole,
Vive le son du canon!”
The soldiers looked on, calling out approvingly:
“That’s good. She might be a sans-culotte herself! Give us the 'Ça Ira,’
too!”
Vivi danced and sang with all her might, enjoying the attention she got
very much. When Fardou called her, she picked up her tray and came
inside the gates, making a bow to the guard, who bowed mockingly in
return.
“Thank you, citizeness, for the entertainment. We shall see you one day
at the Comédie Française, I daresay,” he remarked.
“Thank you, Georges Fardou, for letting me outside the gates. It is not
so nice there as I thought.” She swung her leather strap over her
shoulder and went on crying her wares: “Licorice water, who wants
licorice water!”
Dian left Raoul and went to Humphrey Trail’s room in the alley. He had
not expected to find Humphrey in, but was only too glad to see his broad
kindly face looking around the corner of the door as he came up the
stairs.
“I’ve seen Madame Saint Frère,” Dian said as soon as he came into the
room. Then he proceeded to tell Humphrey all about the morning.
Humphrey’s face shone.
“Tha has done well and there’s now a bit o’ light ahead. Th’ young lad,
to think, he is in the bakery shop. How shall we save th’ lad?” Humphrey
wrung his fat hands together as he spoke.
“We shall do it, Humphrey Trail, and, if I have done well, you have done
better, for though I have dreams and the hope that they will come true,
you have already saved a little girl.” Dian smiled his slow smile and
Humphrey Trail answered him:
“Tha has something more than I ha’! Tha has trust!” As he spoke Humphrey
sighed, longing for the confidence which made Dian so sure that Lisle
would be rescued. He thought of the letter which Dian was holding until
he found the right messenger to deliver it to Champar, the trusted coach
driver, who would, in turn, give it into the hands of Grigge, who lived
at the gates of the Saint Frère demesne.